Guardian Angel
by Merisha
Summary: A sick, delirious Dean becomes a big handful when he starts seeing things. Sammy has to do his best to look after his feverish brother when they are stranded at a small motel in the middle of a blizzard. Continued Birthday fic for the wonderful PA Davis.
1. Chapter 1

**Guardian Angel**

**Chapter 1**

**Synopsis:** A sick, delirious Dean becomes a big handful when he starts seeing things. Sammy has to do his best to look after his feverish brother when they are stranded at a small motel in the middle of a blizzard.

This is part one of a multi chapter fic … it was going to be a one-shot, but then Phoebe decided to make me wait, so I'm returning the evil favor LOL :D

Birthday fic (5th June) for the generous, talented and completely awesome PADavis :D – hope you have a fantastic day bud and may it be filled to the brim with wonderful surprises.

Also check out the stories that PADavis, Muffy Morrigan, Amarintha and Silver Ruffian have written for me XD … Iza love them!!

**Warning:** Rated T for bad language – not beta'd, so all mistakes are my own *looks around nervously* :D

* * *

Dean was wheezing.

Goddamnit to hell.

Sam glanced over at his brother for what felt like the hundredth time. His older sibling was wrapped up in their thread bare blanket, wearing Sam's favorite sweater, the one with the hoodie, which was pulled so low down over his face, Sam could just barely see Dean's red nose.

Dean was seriously sick, had to be to even consider wearing that sweater, he really hated that thing, had even tried to "accidently" leave it at a few Laundromats on occasion, but Sam had always managed to rescue it, thanks to Dean's very own 'Sammy tracking system'. The whole thing would be pretty funny, if it weren't for the congested sounds rumbling from Dean's tight chest, or the slumped manner in which his brother was leaning against the passenger window, or the flush that had become the only color on an already too pale face.

Goddamnit to hell!!

He gripped the steering wheel tighter in frustration, fingers flexing through fingerless gloves.

He needed to get Dean somewhere warm. Any place where he could finally rest up, and where Sam could force feed him whatever meager supply of medication they had left stashed in their sad excuse for a first aid kit. Or better yet, find some clinic or hospital … or even a goddamned vet, he was that desperate.

And he'd be fucked right now if he could see where the fuck they were. Stuck in the middle of god knew where, Montana. The freak blizzard had hit so quickly and without warning, that it was whiting out the view ahead. He couldn't drive more than two fucking miles per hour, for fear of running off the road or into some godforsaken tree, or off the fucking face of the earth for that matter.

Holy fuck. Why did these things always happen to them? Hell, he knew exactly why … his bull headed brother, was why … and this was definitely all Dean's fault. He was always hiding injuries and illness. He could be missing a whole fucking limb and he'd smile at Sam, all innocently, and say shit like 'it's just a scratch, Sammy' or 'stop being such a drama princess, Sammy', and fuck … fuck he should have known something was wrong the minute Dean started coughing and saying 'it's just a little tickle, Sammy.' He should have turned around in his tracks, right there and then, and punched Dean's lights out, carried his fucking stupid ass back to the Impala, hog-fucking-tied him in the back seat and sped off to the nearest fucking ER! That's what he should have fucking done!

He huffed in frustration, glancing quickly at his brother again.

Okay, so he was panicking, but he had the right to, goddamnit. Traipsing around up in the snow for two days, hunting a friggin 'Wendigo', which turned out to be a very sick, very angry, old bear … that had probably died of a heart attack before either of their shotgun rounds could do any damage. Dean had been getting steadily quieter, which was another fucking sign, until yesterday afternoon, when he had passed out just a few feet away from the car. It was only when Sam had knelt down next to his brother that he had felt the heat radiating from Dean's skin, heard the soft gurgling sound emanating from his chest, had realized that his gut instinct had been right, and he should never have listened to Dean's assurances, and well, it had just been getting steadily worse.

Dean's hoarse cough startled him out of his thoughts. The sound rattled in the interior of the Impala, instantly becoming a desperate fight for air.

"Shit!"

He swerved, quickly pulling over on to what he hoped was the side of the road. A road that was pretty deserted, but he was playing it safe, he sure as shit didn't need to be rear-ended by some semi. He reached for his gasping brother, shifting closer and pulling him forward, letting Dean's head slump onto his shoulder as he started to vigorously hit Dean between the should blades, hoping to dislodge the phlegm that was filling his lungs.

"Come on, Dean, breathe, nice and slow … breathe through it."

The desperate hacking, followed by winded gulps had Sam's heart beating frantically in his throat. He pulled away, grabbing Dean's chin with his hand, looking into his flushed face. Dean's eyes were rolling, mouth slightly parted, lips going pale blue, oh shit, he wasn't getting enough air.

Sam shook his brother desperately, before letting Dean's torso fall over his outstretched arm, moving closer, pulling Dean into a tighter hold and firmly hitting him on the back. His brother just slumped forward, on the verge of unconsciousness, possibly fucking dying, and suddenly Sam was angry.

"DEAN! Don't you fucking stop breathing on me … I am so not in the fucking mood to do an emergency tracheotomy with my only fucking pen … and I sure as shit don't want to start CPR. I'm fucking tired, hungry, possibly lost and fucking cold, dude, but I will kick your ass if you pull that shit on me … you hear! Now fucking breathe!"

The short, sharp slaps to his brothers back became more frantic, each second ticking by slowly, until finally, Dean coughed. It was weak, but it grew in intensity, until it was followed by the wonderful sound of Dean inhaling.

"Shit, dude!"

Dean was pushing himself up, swatting his brother helping hand away weakly, a small grin pulling at the corner of his pale lips.

"… such … girl …"

The relief of hearing his brothers voice nearly made Sam pass out. He chuckled, even though all this worry was more than likely gonna give him a fucking hernia.

"Your ass is a girl … you nearly gave me a coronary!"

He helped settle his brother back against the seat, his heart still hammering with fear. He gave his brother a disgruntled look.

"Now if you've finished milking me for attention, you needy jerk … I'm gonna try and find us a place to hold up for the evening."

Dean was attempting a smile, his eyes closing as he fell back into a fevered doze. His voice slurred for a moment, but the words warmed Sam's heart.

"Bossy … beesh."

"Yeah? Well, live it with it!"

After he was a hundred percent sure Dean was still alive, and letting his hand hover in front of Dean's nose for a full minute, just to feel the warm puff of each exhale, he pulled back onto the road, more determined then ever to find someplace they could both defrost. He glanced at his Swiss Army watch. Dean had given it to him as a gift a few Christmases back, the compass attachment showing that he was still traveling in a Southerly direction. Good.

Half an hour later, and if he had been going any faster than the snail pace he had set, he would have missed the shimmering red sign, flashing in the haze of white flakes.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

He pulled into a small parking lot, in front of an even smaller motel. Dean was still out cold, so he quickly made his way over to the small reception office, the doorbell tinkling as he entered in a swirl of snow and wind.

A haggard looking guy, who had obviously just woken up, gave him a surprised look. He straightened his balding hair and started fishing out a book, under a newspaper, on the counter he was sitting behind.

"Evening. Ahem, Room?"

"Yes. Two singles, please."

The man punched something onto an ancient looking calculator.

"That will be forty dollars. Water's hot, towels are clean. Need anything else, you can get it from the vending machines."

He waved in the general direction, without looking, at the two vending machines squeezed tightly into the corner of the room. Sam glanced at them. One had a coffee/tea/soup option and he had never been so happy to see soup in his whole life. When he had settled Dean, he'd come back for some of that for the both of them.

He fished out his wallet, handing over the cash.

"Bad weather you're having up here."

The guy just looked at him, a bored expression plastered on his aging face.

"So, are there any shops or a chemist, maybe a clinic, close by?"

"Ain't nobody up here, not for miles, 'cepting you."

Sam felt a shiver run down his spine. That was so not good. He needed medical supplies, with this storm they might be stuck here for a few days, although he was praying their luck would change. But he was still grateful that they had at least found this place, considering the alternatives.

He left, feeling the guy's eyes on his back as he opened the door again to the howling storm hammering the small buildings.

When he got back to the car, Dean's eyes were open. He seemed to be staring at something, a small smile tugging at his lips. Sam quickly opened the passenger door, wrapping his arms around his brother, ready to pull him to his feet.

"What you looking at?"

Dean didn't look up, and Sam thought that maybe he was still completely out of it.

"Smmy … lil cat …"

Sam squinted, following Dean's gaze. There was nothing. Just heaps and heaps of snow, more of the stuff falling in heavy drifts and almost obscuring the door just ahead of them. He shook his head, adjusting his brother's weight, locking the Impala and half carrying, half dragging Dean inside.

He lowered his sick brother onto the nearest bed, watching nervously as Dean swayed where he sat, still wrapped in the now flaked blanket, fevered gaze moving to stare at nothing near the door.

He left him like that for a few minutes to rush back out. It was fucking freezing but he needed to get their gear and the first aid kit from the boot. He was back a few minutes later, Dean still sitting precariously, just the way he had left him.

Sam threw the duffels on his bed, cranked the AC on full heat, laid a towel at the base of the door to stop the draft and started boiling some hot water.

He made short work of undressing his brother. He'd done it often enough because Dean was usually unconscious and too hurt to help. When he had Dean down to his boxers, he managed to settle him under layers of blankets.

Dean was pushing at them as Sam tried to cover him up, fighting his brothers attempts … moaning in discomfort.

"Hot. Chesss hrts."

"I know."

Sam grabbed his brothers flaying arms.

"I'm gonna fix it, Dean, hear, I'll fix it. Just drink this, it will help."

He reached over for the bottle of Tylenol, shook out two tables into his hand and resorted to finally popping them into Dean's mouth himself, when his brother's attempts landed the tablets on the floor. He helped Dean take a sip of bottled water, noticing how dry his lips were. Shit, he really needed to get his temperature down.

Exhausted, Dean fell back against the pillow, watching his brother sluggishly through half open eyes. Sam made a quick dash to the bathroom and came back with a thermometer and a moist towel, which he began wiping over Dean's forehead, lifting the sheets to continue his ministrations across Dean's sweating skin. Heat was just radiating off him in waves, and Sam felt his throat tighten up as the full impact of just how sick Dean was, started hitting home.

"Smmy … lil cat …"

Dean was smiling again, his line of sight had moved to lock on the empty carpet space in front of Sam's bed. Sam's hand had snacked behind Dean's neck, hoping that the cool cloth was at least helping to bring down the fever.

"There's nothing there, dude, I've checked, you've got a fever, just try to get some sleep."

Dean frowned at his obviously insane brother.

"It's there …"

He nodded his head in the direction of Sam's bed.

"I think it likes me."

God, not a good sign. Dean was burning up, delusional, and probably suffering from double pneumonia from the sounds of things.

"Okay, whatever, you just lay here for a minute, I'm gonna get us something to eat. Okay? Dean, do you hear me … I'm just gonna get some supplies from the vending machines, I won't be long."

Dean just nodded, eyes finally closing.

"I'll be back in a minute."

A soft raspy response followed him as he quickly opened the room door again, the icy wind trying to push its way into the heated room.

"Put on your sweater, Sammy … cold outside."

"Okay, Dean."

He couldn't help but smile. Even sick, his big brother was looking out for him. He picked up the pace, half jogging to the reception area, the thought of warm soup making his stomach growl. When last did they have something warm to eat? He hoped he could get Dean to take a few sips and keep it down. He needed to keep Dean hydrated because the fever was definitely taking its toll.. He just hoped this storm would blow over by tomorrow, so he could get back on the road, and get Dean some proper medical care. He just prayed his brother could hold out that long.

xxxxxxxx

Dean opened his eyes, his body felt like it was on fire. He moaned, his eyes traveling around the small room, in search of something … someone.

"Smmy?"

No answer. He lay still for a second, trying to hear any sounds from the bathroom. But the door was open and the light was off, so Sammy wasn't in there.

Panic helped push him up, the room spinning for a second as he tried calling again.

"Smmy? You here?"

The effort had him doubled over, coughing painfully until he could catch his breath. Still no answer. The room was empty. The only sound coming from the raging storm outside. Oh god. His stomach suddenly sank at the thought.

Sam was outside.

He struggled out from beneath the layers of blankets, fighting the nausea that suddenly assaulted him as he managed to get to his feet. He teetered for a second, eyes closed as his head started pounding. Shit, he really didn't feel too great. He had started staggering towards the door, when he spotted it. Hanging over the side of a chair. Sam's sweater.

Motherfucker. Sammy was out there, in the storm, and he didn't have his sweater? Oh shit, Dad was going to kill him. Wait, no … Dad was gone. Dad was dead.

He picked up the garment and stumbled forward again, turning the handle. The impact of the freezing cold air hitting his bare skin, made him inhale sharply, his chest tightening up as he wheezed out a breath. He looked down at himself, seeming to notice for the first time that he was only wearing his boxers. When did he get undressed? He was about to turn around and go back in, then he remembered. Sammy was out there, cold, possibly lost, and Dean needed to find him. His little brother could die. His heart nearly stopped at the thought. He was the reason Dad was dead. He needed to find his baby brother, fast, make him put on his goddamn hoodie, 'cause he really didn't want to be the reason for Sammy death. No sir, not again, that loss would kill him.

A soft mewing sound caught his attention, and Dean glanced back at the small fur ball watching him with wide eyes, sitting on the carpet, in the warm room. It was almost as if the little guy was calling him back. He was tempted, but …

"Smmy?"

Sammy could die out there. It pushed him to take a tentative step, stumbling away from the motel. He took a moment to lean against the Impala's snow covered bonnet, leaving his hand print glowing black through the frosty mass. It gave him just enough time to regain his balance, before he started his trek out into the raging tempest, the soft flakes quietly covering his tracks as he disappeared into the sheet of white.

* * *

_**TBC**_


	2. Chapter 2

**Guardian Angel**

**Chapter 2**

**Notes:** Aw, guys, thanks as always for your wonderful support and awesome reviews, fav's and alerts ;) – I know Sammy 'fudged' quite a bit in the previous chapter, but I'm blaming the stress he's under, nothing to do with the fact that Phoebe taught me everything I know *shakes head* – he may 'fudge' a little here too, but that's entirely Dean's fault LOL :D

Part 2 of the Birthday fic (5th June) for the generous, talented and completely awesome PADavis :D

Also, next chapter of 'Bad Blood' will be posted soon, hang in their Lizz :)

Also check out these stories written for me:

PADavis – Menage a Trois

Muffy Morrigan – Apercu - and something in the pipeline YAY ;)

Amarintha – Supernatural: Teaser

Silver Ruffian – Who let the Dogs Out

Iza love them!! XD

**Warning:** Rated T for bad language – still not beta'd, so all mistakes are mine :)

* * *

Sam poured the second Styrofoam cup full of steaming soup. The stuff smelled delicious. Chicken noodle. He was pretty sure Dean would be able to handle that. At least he hoped he'd keep it down. He couldn't resist a tentative sip, and was surprised at how good it tasted.

"So, what brings ya to these parts of the woods?"

He glanced over his shoulder at the reception desk. The guy was watching him intently, arms folded, leaning back in a chair that had probably seen better days.

"Um, we're Park Rangers. Got kinda lost on the way back."

"Park Rangers, huh?"

Sam nodded as he placed a lid over the cup, deciding to stick with their current cover.

"Yeah."

He scanned the vending machines for other items they might need, afraid they'd be stuck here for a few days and he sure as shit didn't want to have to leave Dean again, not if he could help it.

"Your partner sick?"

He waited for the machine to accept the twenty dollar bill, collecting the change, before retrieving the six bottles of Gatorade, choosing the flavor Dean least despised.

"Yeah, really sick actually. I think I need to get him to a hospital as soon as I can."

He turned around, stuffing the bottles into the various pockets of his huge winter jacket.

"Do you know how far it is to the nearest hospital?"

"Like I said, kid. Nothing for miles, 'cepting this place, and with this storm, you'd never make it on these roads. Best to just wait it out."

The guy sighed, shrugging his shoulders.

"Pretty desolate up here, hardly ever see anyone, so I sorta like to think of this place as a haven for lost travelers."

Sam couldn't even begin to imagine how bored he'd be if he were stuck in a place like this, in a job like this. And the realization that this was the only place for miles, where he could take care of Dean, didn't ease Sam's mind one bit. It was definitely going to be a long night.

"Besides, I don't really like having too many people around, left the rat race a long time ago, like the slower pace, ya know what I mean?"

Coming to think of it, a slower pace would be nice for a change, they hadn't had a break in months. Maybe once Dean was better, they'd go down to Florida on a holiday or something, get some sun.

"You stay here by yourself?"

"Nah, I have a cat … he's around here somewhere."

The guy waved his hand around the room, ducking to see if he could spot anything moving, Sam's eyes following his.

_So Dean had seen a cat?_

"Damned strange little fella mind ya, sneaks around all the time. There one minute, gone the next. He's sorta a beige color, has a scraggly dark patch of fur right on top of his head."

The guy was fluffing the top of his balding head as he described the cat's features. Okay. Weird.

He found he was still trying to mentally catalog what might be left in their med kit, praying that something there would help his sick brother in the meantime. From the looks of things, nothing else here would be of use, he needed to get back.

"I have some first aid stuff that ya welcome to. Need it when you live miles away from any help, plus some other supplies."

Sam knees almost went weak with relief, the guy must have been reading his mind.

"Seriously? That will be great, I'll pay you for whatever we use."

"Sure."

He got up, shuffling over to a cupboard, Sam noting for the first time that he was wearing big, fluffy slippers. He watched as he pulled out a huge carry bag with a red cross emblazoned on the side. He also pulled out some extra blankets, a couple of warm bottles and towels.

"There ya go, help ya self."

He dumped everything on the desk, letting Sam rearrange all the supplies, transferring the Gatorade from his pockets and into the bag, so that he could carry it. He'd do a thorough search of the contents when he got back to the room.

"I don't know what to say, this is great, man, really … thanks."

His voice broke on those words, 'cause shit, this guy was like a God send.

"No worries, kid, just shout if ya need anything else. I'm not goin' anywhere."

Sam smiled, nodding his thanks again, before venturing out into the frigid storm, two steaming cups of soup in each gloved hand, making his way through the haze, back to their room.

The wind was buffeting him as he forced his way forward. The clerk was a little strange, but Sam would have to find some way to repay his generosity, 'cause hot damn, they seriously needed some good luck round about now, and blow him over, if their luck hadn't just changed. He was pretty sure he would at least find some antibiotics in the heavy kit he had secured on his back.

He squinted, looking ahead, spotting a glowing light. Thank god. He was a few feet away when he's gut told him something was wrong. As he got closer he felt his heart plummet to his shoes. There was light pouring out of an open door. Their motel room door? OH FUCK. He was instantly on alert, trying to remember if he'd forgotten to close the door properly. OH SHIT. And Dean was in there, probably freezing his balls off, and he was sick … OH FUCK! OH SHIT! Sam ran the last few steps, pushing his way into the cold room, snow already melting at the threshold.

"DEAN?"

He placed the two cups on the table, dropping the bag and quickly scanning the room.

His heart began jack hammering in his chest when he noticed the empty bed, covers thrown back. He immediately made a dash for the bathroom, a quick look revealing that Dean wasn't their either. He looked at the open door for a split second before letting his eyes roam around the room again, his brain not wanting to process the possibility that …

Oh god.

He was instantly running

"DEAN! … DEAN!"

Thoughts of his brother lying just outside their door had him rushing up and down the corridor, brushing snow off any mounds he spotted, yelling at the top of his lungs. He could barely hear the sound of his voice above the wind as he rushed back. Maybe, please god, Dean was into the Impala. He fumbled with the locked door handles, before wiping at the side windows frantically, to see if he could spot a leg, an arm, through the glass. Still nothing. He looked out hopelessly at the white mass falling in heavy sheets, blocking his view of the entire car park, he couldn't even see the reception from here. Oh god, no! Dean could be lying just a few feet away.

He wanted to just run out, search for his brother, bring him back inside and kick his stupid ass straight into next week, but he didn't even know which way to go?

_Where to start? _

He knew time was of the essence, 'cause Dean was out there in this storm with practically nothing on, and Sam couldn't see shit. He was yelling himself hoarse, the wind just muffling his panicked screams.

"DEAN! DEAN! Answer me, damnit!"

_Okay, okay, breathe. _

He needed to pull his shit together, have a game plan. Dean was out there, somewhere. Dean needed him … quickly … and fuck? Where to start? He rushed back into the room, scanning everything again, making a mental check of things he was going to need. He looked at the chair, noticing that his hoodie was missing. OH THANK GOD. The hoodie. He was scrambling through Dean's backpack throwing out socks, underwear, t-shirts until he finally found the item he was looking for.

He pulled off his right glove with his teeth, pressing the 'on' button with stiff fingers and hitting the small device a few times, until a steady red 'bleep' appeared on the screen. Oh thank god for overprotective, older brothers. Dean had put tracking devices on a few items of his clothing, including his well worn sweater, after their stint in OBX, and from the read-out, Dean was further than Sam had expected, moving gradually further away. Assuming Dean still had the hoodie on his person, shit, and hadn't dropped it in his delirium, letting the wind take it, Sam was pretty sure he could locate him.

The urge to just run out and get Dean was overwhelming, he was itching to move now, but he doubted he'd find his way back in the heavy snow fall.

Okay, first things first. He needed Dean's winter jacket, a blanket ... check, check. He knelt in front of the first aid bag and hurriedly started unpacking everything on the floor. Dean had congested lungs, he probably wasn't breathing too well, and Sam needed something for that, just in case.

He found a box, with what looked like an asthma pump. He read the label. _Xopenex HFA Inhalation Aerosol_. Okay, that would have to do. He tore the packaging open and stuffed the inhaler into his pocket. He checked the AC again; left it on full heat, made sure he had the keys before exiting the room and shutting the door, but not locking it. He pulled the hood of his jacket further over his head, with the blanket and Dean's jacket over one arm and the tracking device in his free hand.

He pushed forward against the strength of the wind, not wanting to think of Dean out there … so close and yet so far. He was tempted to just start running in that general direction, adrenalin pumping, but finding Dean without a quick route back to the room would be futile and possibly more life threatening to the both of them.

He opened the boot of the Impala, scratching around until he found the neatly bundled neon colored, nylon rope that they used when entering caves. Dean hated caves, and preferred to have a 'shiny' rope that could mark and lead the way out, when and if the need arose.

He was planning on using that same technique now. He slammed the boot, moving over to the nearest pole supporting the roof structure over the open passageway in front of the motel rooms.

Quickly securing the end, he looped his arm through the bundle, checking his watch compass one more time and finally starting his arduous journey into the raging eddies of snow.

"I'm coming, Dean … just hold on."

The snow was quickly dusting him like frosting on a fruit cake as he followed the route. The red dot shining like a beacon on the screen … that red dot was his brother, god, he prayed it was Dean.

He found that he was counting off each grueling step that was hopefully taking him to his brother. Fear spurring him on, his throat tight with dread as visions bombarded his mind of what he would possibly find.

_Don't be dead, don't be dead!_

He was getting closer, each minute ticking by slowly, but Dean had covered a surprisingly large area. The blip had stopped moving about two minutes ago, and Sam found that he was almost running against the gale force, sweating heavily from the effort. The snow was ankle deep and he still couldn't see further than his hands. He was blind out here.

What had possessed Dean to venture out into this? Who was he kidding; he should never have left him in the first place. Dean was sick, delirious. Shit. The guilt was already eating him up; this was his fault … if anything happened …

Ten minutes later and the screen showed that he was right on top of the blip. That meant Dean was in front of him somewhere, sonnavabith, he couldn't see anything. The panic he was feeling was overwhelming as he started scanning the area. Nothing, just blinding white. He began screaming his brother's name, knowing it was probably hopeless.

"DEAN!"

Nothing. He took a few steps forward.

"DEAN!! CAN YOU HEAR ME?"

Shit, shit, he could barely hear himself … he started to move forward again, almost walking slap bang into a pillar of snow.

He stopped.

Oh god. Not a pillar of snow … Dean!

He rushed forward, hands already moving to dust off and steady his swaying brother. Dean was plastered with snow, flakes sparkling on his hair and eyelashes. Pale arms were folded across his bare chest, still clutching Sam's sweater, shaking violently.

"Oh god, oh god!"

Dean's lips were blue, eyes only half open and swollen red. He was staring out at nothing, and it looked like he'd been crying. Sam swallowed back a sob, ducking, trying to see Dean's face. Dazed eyes finally locked with his, and a small, shivering smile suddenly broke those frozen features.

"Sm?'

Sam stuffed the tracker in his pocket, pushing the blanket and Dean's jacket securely between his knees, before shucking out of his own body-heated jacket and draping it over Dean's shoulders. He pulled the hood down over his brother's head and zipped the whole thing up. Cold was hitting him with such intense force, it hurt, and he knew that Dean was in serious trouble here. He had to get him back, get him warm.

"Yeah, it's me, dude … what do ya say we get you back inside?"

Dean still swayed, glassy eyes locked on Sam as he watched him quickly put on the other jacket, before his attention was drawn away, staring off at something in the distance again.

"You with me, Dean? Look at me!"

Dean's eyes were wide with wonder, his face glowing, skin so translucent, he looked almost angelic.

"Ttthey … wwwwant me … ta fffollow …."

Sam looked around stupidly before realization hit. He was losing Dean, he's brother was probably so far gone, on the verge of going into that damn light everyone kept talking about, and shit, that was not happening on his fucking watch!

"Look at me, dude! There's nothing there … you hear me … you're not following anyone but me … okay!"

He cupped his brother's face between his palms, forcing him to look into his determined eyes. Willing him to hold on to life.

"Kkkkay?"

Dean's legs decided to give way at that exact moment, and Sam managed to grab onto him just as they both collapsed to their knees, Sam pressing Dean's torso up against his own as he started coughing weakly.

"It's okay, I got ya, I got ya."

He was whispering those words into his hair as he held him close, wrapping his arms around his brothers shivering form for a luxurious second. God, he had him, had his brother in his arms, but Dean was barely alive. He quickly secured the blanket tightly around his brother's entire frame. Digging into his pocket for the inhaler.

"Ffffound … ya …"

Sam smiled at that.

"Yeah you did."

He grabbed Dean's chin, forcing his shivering brother to look at him again. That silly grin was still on his face, but his eyes were starting to roll, on the verge of unconsciousness, and Sam needed to keep him breathing.

"Dean, I need you to take a deep breath for me, okay … I need you to breathe this in."

He placed the inhaler between Dean's quivering lips, teeth chattering against the plastic. Dean was looking right through him, eyes glazing over. Sam began shaking him in anger. He was not going to lose his brother … not like this.

"DEAN! Listen to me! I'll count to ten, try and hold your breath, okay? You know the drill."

Dean thankfully gave a small nod, and Sam released a puff of the inhaler, watching as his brother took in a breath, but he could only hold it for two counts before he started coughing again, wheezing as he slumped forward into Sam's embrace.

Shit, that would have to do. Stuffing the inhaler into another pocket, he shifted his position, one arm under Dean's knees, before lifting him up into his arms. His brother was heavy but Sam barely noticed, already securing his hold on the rope as he started following the trail back. Dean would hate this, but he had no choice. A fireman's carry would be faster and easier, but would only loosen the thick mucus lodged in Dean's lungs, and he'd probably choke before they made it back.

"Fffffound … ya …"

Sam leaned forward, barely hearing his brother's delirious, whispered ramblings.

"Ya ….c'dav … dddied…"

The hurt and loss in those few words tore at Sam's heart.

"Yeah, but I didn't, you saved me … like always, Dean … you saved me."

Oh god, he was going to lose him if he didn't work fast. Dean was shaking so violently that Sam was battling to keep his balance. He was walking faster now, the wind direction pushing him from behind and helping his forward momentum.

Just as Sam thought he could see a haze of light ahead, Dean suddenly went completely limp in his arms. He instantly dropped to his knees, his ear next to Dean's mouth. He held his breath until he heard the faint rasping coming from his brothers pale lips. He was breathing, but he wasn't shivering. That was definitely a bad sign. He was on his feet in an instant, muscles protesting, but back at their motel, releasing the rope and pushing his way inside the room, within minutes.

He slammed the door shut with his foot, quickly moving and depositing his brother gently onto the nearest bed.

Sam went on to auto pilot. Dad's training finally coming in handy. He quickly checked Dean's pulse before moving over to start the kettle. On his way to the bathroom he collected some towels. He poured a basin of hot water, returning to Dean and carefully removed the blanket and jacket. He dipped the cloth into the warm water, wringing it out and wiping it slowly over Dean's frozen feet, moving his way along the whole of his body, washing off the residue snow, before quickly toweling him dry. He prayed that Dean wasn't suffering from frost bite as he added two layers of thick socks to Dean's feet. Sam changed Dean's boxers, modesty be damned, with a pair of long johns, that he always pretended he didn't own, and then lifted him up and carried him to his own bed, tucking him under the layers of warm blankets.

He made two warm bottles, covered them thickly in towels and positioned one between Dean's knees and the other next to his chest. He knew that he had to warm Dean up slowly; any drastic change in temperature now, could stop his heart.

It was worrying Sam that Dean hadn't even moved, wasn't making any sounds except for his labored breathing.

He cleared some space on the little table next to the bed, leaving the inhaler there; hoping he would be able to get Dean to take in a few more lungs full if it became necessary. He also placed the two cups of soup, a bottle of Gatorade, Vicks vapor rub and some antibiotics within arm's reach.

A sound from the bed had him looking over at his brother. Dean was suddenly gasping, arching his back, as he struggled to inhale. Sam quickly sat on the bed, pulling his brother up and once again resorting to hitting him between the shoulder blades. Dean choked, coughing painfully as Sam clung to him, coaching him to breathe in and out.

When he was sure Dean could manage on his own again, he propped him up against a wall of pillows. His temperature was far too low and body heat was his best option. Sam kept a steady hand on Dean as he quickly pulled off his own clothing. Left only in his t-shirt and boxers, he climbed in behind his brothers still form. Shit, Dean was ice cold. Once settled, he placed his hand on his Dean's forehead, pulling him to lean against his chest, letting Dean's head fall back against his shoulder, opening his airway a bit.

"Don't die Dean, please … just don't die."

It was a prayer, a mantra. Dean gave a soft whimper, his chest battling to expand as he wheezed in air.

"Shhhh … I've got you … you're gonna be okay."

Sam picked up the small, blue bottle next to the bed, loosening the lid and letting his fingers dig out a dollop of the eucalyptus smelling gel, before vigorously rubbing the Vicks onto Deans exposed chest. The shallow, rattling noises were becoming worse, confirming just how congested Dean's lungs were. Sam continued with the soothing, circular motions, the sticky gel warming under his fingers, until he felt his brother's body begin to relax against his own.

He made sure the blankets were securely tucked around them both, ensconcing them in a warm cocoon. The room was hot but Dean was still freezing. Later on he'd have to check Dean over, start a 'vapour steam bowl' to help open his lungs, but for now he just had to get him warm. Please god, let him just get warm.

He was gently rocking them both as he hugged his brother closer, whispering reassurances into his ear.

"Stay with me, Dean ... please."

Finally, he settled back against the pillows, his fingers covering the pulse point on Dean's wrist, counting the beats per minute. His pulse was still way too slow, but at least it was steady.

Sam knew there was a long battle ahead, Dean was fighting for his life, but he wouldn't be fighting alone.

* * *

_**TBC**_

End note: Tracking devices and OBX belong to PADavis ... check out her story "OBX" if you haven't already :D


	3. Chapter 3

**Guardian Angel**

**Chapter ****3**

**Notes:** Part 3 of the Happy Birthday fic for my very patient, forgiving, awesome bud, PADavis :D – holy fudge sundae, sorry for the delay, I can only blame myself LOL :) – please also check out the absolutely fantabulous story Phoebe wrote for me - 'Ménage a Trois' (I'm huggling it to death) :)

Lizz is also being wonderful, and giving me some time to catch up with Bad Blood. I'll have a new chapter of that story soon. And thanks, as always, for the wonderful support, reviews, fav's and alerts ;)

Herb knowledge courtesy of my very own herbalist, Muffy Morrigan :) – I let her out of the dungeon (on weekends ... maybe) ROFL XD

**HAPPY 4****TH**** OF JULY ;)**

**Warning:** Rated T for bad language – not beta'd, so all mistakes are mine :)

* * *

Dean was shaking violently now, chills wracking his body as he finally started warming up. At least his stint in the snow had broken his high fever, but Sam still kept his arms wrapped securely around his brother, holding him closer. His heart ached with every shivering breath Dean drew in, lungs making a crackling sound with each exhale.

He kept massaging the Vicks Vapour rub onto Dean's chest, moving along his heaving ribs and across his clammy skin, up to his neck and back again, hoping that it would somehow alleviate his breathing.

Alternating, he'd take one of Dean's hands in his own, kneading each finger, trying to return blood flow to the purplish, blue digits. He didn't want to explore the possibility of damage from frostbite, scared to even look at Dean's toes. He shook his head, wanting to clear that image from his mind.

Dean's goose-bumped skin was still cold against his own, seeping through Sam's vest as he continued to whisper soft reassurances. He was hoping that his brother would wake up soon, give him some sort of sign that he was going to be okay.

Shit, this was so not good. Dean needed to be in a goddamn hospital, on oxygen, drugged up to the gills with the antibiotics and whatever other shit they could pump into his bloodstream to make him better. This was severe pneumonia, there was no mistaking the symptoms, but he was already working on a risky treatment plan, knowing he needed antibiotics, needed to keep Dean hydrated.

He shifted uncomfortably, getting a bit hot in the heated room, what with the layers of blankets, which were pulled up to Dean's chin, and the added warm bottles. But he wasn't going to move, not just yet, not until Dean's body temperature had returned to normal.

Reaching over for the second Styrofoam cup, he drank the last of the soup, the tasty liquid relieving his hunger pangs. He had tried to give some to Dean earlier, but his incoherent brother had just turned his head away, going a little green, and Sam hadn't forced the issue. He'd eventually need to get Dean to drink something though.

He aimed, tossing the empty container across the room, hitting the bin spot-on. Typical, he'd just made a three point shot, with nobody to witness. He nearly jumped out of his skin, jostling them both, when he noticed a pair of unfocused eyes watching him.

"Dean?"

"Ya … hot."

Okay. Not quite what he was expecting.

"Um, thanks ... I think."

His relief was short lived as Dean eyes started closing again, so Sam tapped him lightly on his face, trying to keep him awake.

"Hey, hey, you with me? Need you to stay awake for a minute."

Face scrunched up in pain, Dean contemplated the request.

"Head hurrs."

"I can imagine, I'll give you something for it, just stay awake, okay?"

Dean squinted, confusion written on his face as he tried to focus, eyebrows knitting together, before a startled look flitted across his features.

"Smy … we … spoonin'?"

Sam couldn't help but chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief at his anal brother.

"Yeah, I thought I'd just take advantage of you, while you're down, ya know. Didn't think you'd mind."

"I ... mind ...dude."

Sam grinned, Dean's raspy chuckle quickly turning into a deep, chest-rattling cough. He clung to Sam's arm for a few minutes, Sam supporting his weight, before he finally caught his breath, fighting the urge to sink back into exhausted sleep.

"Dean, I need you to stay awake ... please ... try take some meds."

He was already tapping out two Tylenol into his palm

"Here ya go, open your mouth, that's it."

Dean tried, he really did, but his stubborn jaw just wouldn't move. He felt like shit, joints and muscles aching, body wracked with chills. It was taking all of his will power just to stay conscious. But at least Sammy was warm ... god, so nice and warm … and even though he'd regret it in the morning, he seriously just wanted to snuggle closer to that heat ... defrost ... pass out ...

He frowned, disorientated as Sammy's fingers pushed at his lips, prying them open, placing one tablet on his tongue before tilting the Gatorade bottle towards his mouth.

Dean felt like he should be pissed, the kid was manhandling him for goddsake, lanky bitch just wouldn't let up, but he couldn't muster enough energy to slap the princesses' hand away. So he swallowed instead, the pill disappearing down his throat, causing him to cough weakly. The cool liquid was soothing though, and he tried to take another thirsty mouthful.

"Easy, easy, small sips."

Sam carefully repeated the process until he'd given Dean the second Tylenol and two broad spectrum antibiotics he'd found in the med kit.

He prayed they'd act quickly, knowing that pneumonia could easily advance to 'blood poisoning'. Dean was already in severe respiratory distress, and his brother dying was just not on his to-do list.

Dean took a gulping breath before doing his best to hack up a lung, stabbing pains accompanying the effort. He groaned, whatever was clogging his throat, landed in his mouth and he started gagging. A tissue miraculously appeared before his mouth, so he leaned forward, squinting at the yellowish green sputum he spat out. Okay, he was pretty sure that wasn't healthy.

Sam's face wrinkled, quickly throwing the slimy wad away. Shit, that was gross, but Dean needed to cough, needed to clear his lungs, and he was more than willing to do whatever was necessary, no matter how effing unpleasant. Didn't change the fact that his big brother was going to owe him big time for this.

Nerves thrummed with tension as he reached over for the inhaler, managing to get Dean to inhale for four counts, before a coughing fit shook the entire bed.

"Easy, easy … that's good; you're doing great, Dean."

He rubbed small circles on his brother's chest, the pungent smell of sickness hanging thick in the air. Dean looked terrible, his face contorted in agony. Sam held a clean tissue to his mouth again as he spat out the fluids he was coughing up, his heart nearly stopping at the sight.

Oh, god, there were specks ... he inspected them closer ... Dean was coughing up some blood.

Oh shit, oh shit, he needed to try something else. He started struggling out from behind the mass, propping his brother upright against the pillows and tucking him in again before running his fingers through his hair nervously. Shit, he needed to calm down, needed to get a grip. He could never figure out how Dad made this look so easy. Damnit. He started pacing, glancing over at his pale sibling, eyes closed, lips colourless, back arching slightly as he continued to battle to inhale.

Okay, so Dean wasn't breathing right, lungs badly congested, blood was definitely not a good sign, skin taking on a bluish tinge. He was on the verge of completely losing it, the need to punch something making his hands fist. Instead, he moved over to the desk, picking up his cell phone, already knowing he wouldn't get a signal. He threw it down in irritation, the battery cover clattering off, before he grabbed Dad's journal, scanning his notes on medical procedures, therapies, cures, herbs … even goddamn rituals.

He sped read through a section on ancient water therapy. Apparently the use of cold and hot water acted like a universal pump, stimulating circulation which would help with the effectiveness of any herbs or drugs. But the thought of dragging Dean between a hot shower and a cold bath was far from appealing.

The notes about herbs proved a bit more useful. He scratched around in his duffel, pulling out the packet filled with ingredients that they used on hunts. He had Mullen which he mixed with some red cedar, quickly wrapping it into a small, tight incense bundle, which he started burning. The room filling with a rich, spicy fragrance as he took a deep breath, feeling the desired effects, knowing it would help towards opening Dean's lungs.

Next, he grabbed the nearly empty bottle of Vicks and entered the small bathroom. There wasn't anything he could use as a container, so he let the hot water run for a few minutes, planning on filling the tub halfway before adding a few dollops of the mixture.

He was folding a towel over the edge of the tub for Dean to lean against, already on high alert, when he heard the soft call from the bedroom. He immediately dropped what he was doing to check on his brother.

"Dean?"

"Smy? … no … nono ... plse ..."

He moved over to the bed, sitting on the edge. Dean had drifted into a restless sleep, a fine layer of sweat beading on his skin, gasping as he fought to breathe. A quick check showed that his pulse was racing. Shit.

Dean's eyes were rolling behind closed lids, obviously in the throws of a fevered dream, pushing frantically at the blankets, feet kicking as he tried to squirm free. Sam moved forward, clasping his brother's arms, trying to still his frenzied movements.

"Easy, Dean, I'm hear. It's okay."

"Ghnn ..."

The words were soft, wheezing past panting lungs.

"No Dean, not gone ... shhh ..."

"Suppose ... take ... care off ..."

"You do ..."

Sam swallowed uncomfortably.

"Jus ... one job ... let ya ... down ..."

He was realizing something about himself ... he hated seeing this part of Dean, the tormented part that was usually so well hidden ... not knowing how to fix it, just knowing with certain clarity that he had to get Dean out of the deal ... some way, anyway. He rubbed his brother's arm soothingly, jerking when Dean suddenly sat upright, eyes flying open in panic.

"SAMMY!?"

The anguished yell ripped a bit more at Sam's soul and he cupped his brother's face between his hands.

"Not, gone ... I'm here, remember … but you brought me back?"

He gently pushed his brother to lean against the pillows. Dean was delirious, his temperature climbing steadily. Shit! Was it too soon for more antibiotics?

"Smmy?"

He saw a small flicker of recognition in those glassy eyes, a look of disbelief.

"Yeah, dude ... it's really me."

Dean just stared at him for an uncomfortable moment.

"Don' ... go ... kay?"

He squeezed his shoulder, a sad smile pulling at his lips.

"Don't worry, not going anywhere."

The words thankfully seemed to sink in and Dean relaxed, tense muscles uncoiling as his arms slipped down to his sides. Sam thought he might have fallen asleep again, but his eyes quickly blinked open, staring blankly ahead.

"Here, try and drink some more of this."

He held the bottle of Gatorade, cradling Dean's neck, lifting him up slightly. Dean clamped trembling fingers around his wrists as he sipped.

"Nggh."

Sam took that as a 'thanks', letting his hand swiftly brush over Dean's warm forehead and through his damp hair. Dude was too out of it to even notice the covert attempt at a temperature check. Instead, he blinked owlishly, licking dry lips, before letting his head fall back against the pillow, continuing to watch Sam's every movement. Sam took the opportunity to let his hands skim against Dean's throat, behind his ears, checking to see if the glands were swollen.

Finishing his assessment, he patted Dean's leg before moving to kneel at the foot of the bed, scared at what he'd find. Removing the socks, he was relieved to see that there didn't seem to be any serious damage, even though the tips were very blue. He vigorously started rubbing each foot, Dean groaning in discomfort. He needed to stimulate circulation, Dean's feet twitching as he massaged each toe. He was pleased to see that Dean wasn't suffering from frost bite, as he'd feared, although that did seem kinda strange.

"... ngg ... cat ..."

Sam looked up at his brother, his winded tone so soft he could barely hear it, but he noticed that his gaze had drifted to a spot by the door.

"What?"

"… watchin' ... me."

Dean's hand had moved up, subconsciously kneading his palm into his sore chest.

"Do you see it, is it here, now?"

He nodded, confused by Sam's question.

"Yeah … s'over there ... stopped me."

Sam frowned.

"Stopped you from what, Dean?"

"… stopped me … followin' ..."

He was looking towards the door and Sam suddenly knew what he was referring to. His words were becoming weaker, voice breaking. Sam felt slightly unnerved, glancing at the spot Dean was referring to. There was still nothing there.

"… sat on … feet, could'n move. Wanted to … they called … but he was warm, furry ..."

He smiles at that, pressing his thumbs into the arch of Dean's relaxed foot. Dean obviously had a soft spot for his imaginary pet. Sam had no idea what was going on, but if the cat was looking out for Dean, he wasn't going to complain.

"... didn't want me ... ta follow ... can still hear 'em ..."

A chill ran down Sam's spine remembering the car accident, how he'd nearly lost Dean back then, he wasn't going to let that happen again, not ever.

"Well, you're not going anywhere, dude, you hear me ... nowhere!"

The conviction of his voice didn't surprise him. He would protect his brother no matter what, at any cost. If something wanted Dean, it'd have to go through him first.

He sighed with relief when he saw that Dean's feet were finally starting to regain a healthier, pink colour, so he continued his manipulations, letting his brother ramble. He knew he was getting worse, but he hoped a session with the steamy vapours would help unclog his lungs.

"… has 'lil 'cow-lick' … top've his head."

Dean was waxing lyrical about the cat. Sam was sure that he had more than likely seen the little guy when they arrived, and his fevered mind was still conjuring up the fur ball now. But if it was keeping Dean grounded, he could live with that.

"He's beige, right?"

"Ya see 'im … too?"

He nodded, playing along, remembering what the clerk had said about his pet. Finally happy with the results of his impromptu reflexology session, he covered the feet in socks, getting up, talking loudly for Dean's sake, as he went to wash his hands.

"Yeah, cute little guy, keeps disappearing."

He put in the plug and started filling the tub, adding the Vicks. The hot water mixing with the colder air instantly started making thick billows of minty steam.

Perfect.

Pulling the door closed behind him to trap the mist, he came back, moving over to the bed to gently pull his brother up and to his feet. He thought he might need to carry Dean there, but, to his surprise, he managed to stand, even if he was clinging to Sam like a lifeline, legs shaking under his weight.

"You okay?"

A slight nod of confirmation before small steps began leading them to the bathroom. Dean was leaning heavily on Sam, Sam taking most of his weight, as they made their slow progress. Halfway there, Dean stopped.

"Don't ... feel ta good ... Smmy."

"Shhh, I know ... don't try to talk, just concentrate on breathing, okay?"

Dean swallowed convulsively, the nausea he felt inducing a small cough, which turned into another knee buckling fit. Sam clung to his brother, arms wrapped firmly around his waist, Dean's arm hooked over his shoulder as he battled to keep them both upright. Dean was heaving in air, eyes watering.

"Nghhh ... hurss."

"I know, dude, I'm gonna fix that, just hang on ... I'll fix it."

Dean's hand was pressing into his chest as he continued to wheeze, shuffling until they finally reached tub, Sam assisting him to kneel on the bath mat. He helped Dean lean forward over the thick towel he had placed on the rim, supporting his neck and placing his other hand on Dean's chest. They were both leaning over the tub, Sam watching Dean's face as his brother started inhaling the therapeutic vapours.

The hot steam was hitting Dean full in the face, his breaths becoming more laboured. New bouts of coughing had him groaning in pain, his right hand moving up to fist into Sam's t-shirt, trying to push away. Sam just held him steady, knowing Dean was too weak to fight him off. His whole body was shaking violently, rounds and rounds of hacking, as the mist filled Dean's lungs, loosening the congestion. Sam moved his hand from its position on Dean's neck, instead, hitting him firmly between the shoulder blades.

"It's okay, just breathe ... keep breathing!"

He noticed, for the first time the dark bruises running along Dean's spine. His guilt intensified when he realised that he had made those marks. But he couldn't stop, Dean was choking up phlegm, spitting it into the water, Sam watching sickly as it mingled and sank to the bottom of the tub, the red specks still evident.

"You're okay ... doing great."

"Smm ... stp."

He couldn't breathe, he was gasping. He tried pushing himself up, but Sam held him in place, encouraging him to cough, to clear his lungs. Dean started shoving weakly at the arms supporting his weight, mouth opening but not making any sound. Sam was suddenly aware that he wasn't drawing in oxygen, realizing something was blocking his airway.

"DEAN? Come on, cough ... cough it up!"

Dean's panicked gaze locked with his brother's, mouth gulping, but he couldn't cough, couldn't breathe. Sam tried to pull him up, shaking him desperately, watching in terror as Dean's eyes started to roll back, slumping forward, unconscious, into Sam's arms.

Sam was frantic, hitting Dean with heavy blows now, trying to dislodge the phlegm that was asphyxiating his brother.

Nothing.

Oh god, he was gonna die, Dean was gonna die in his arms.

In desperation he pried Dean's jaw open, sticking his fingers into Dean's mouth, swabbing the back of his throat, trying to dislodge the obstruction blocking Dean's windpipe. He just prayed Dean didn't have a seizure; otherwise he'd probably lose those fingers.

"You don't get to die, Dean. I'm not going to let you die!"

He leaned Dean further over the tub, resorting to a Heimlich manoeuvre ... his own heart racing in alarm.

"Breathe, damnit!"

Still nothing. He quickly felt for a pulse, it was there, but getting weaker. Dean was suffocating. Tears were streaming down Sam's face as he continued the life saving procedure ... feelings he had held in check for months were starting to pour out of him.

"If you die, Dean, I don't know what will happen to me, what I'll become ... it scares me to even think about it."

He was pleading.

"So there isn't any alternative, you hear, it's me and you together in this thing."

He was begging.

"I need you to keep an eye on me. Just like Dad told you to."

He was praying.

"Please, Dean ... please ... if you can't save me, you're the one who needs to ... I don't want to become one of the things we hunt."

Another Heimlich thrust and suddenly an elongated globule of slime fell with a splash into the tub.

And then ... to Sam's eternal relief ... Dean inhaled. A shaky, shallow breath, followed by a popping sound as mucus bubbled at the back of his throat.

It quickly turned to heaving, Sam holding onto his brother in desperation, making small circles on Dean's back, his own muscles cramping in sympathy. He knew how much it was hurting, but he couldn't stop.

Dean was barely conscious, but at least he was breathing again; alive ... that was all that mattered for now.

His own pulse was racing, waiting for Dean's gasps to even out a bit, enjoying each shallow sound, before pulling him down to sit on the floor. He reached for a towel, wiping at Dean's mouth, wrapping his long arms protectively around his brother's torso, feeling Dean's weak but steady heartbeat beneath his hand. He wasn't sure if it was his imagination, but Dean seemed to be breathing easier.

"I'll take care of you."

He whispered the words close to Dean's ear, watching his brother's eyes trying to flutter open.

"It's my turn."

They sat like that for a few minutes, Sam not wanting to move yet, he was exhausted, Dean was too, but he knew he had to repeat this process, even though it was filling him with unimaginable dread.

He adjusted his hold, pulling his brother with him, supporting his upper body as they both hung partially over the edge of the bath. With one hand, he tugged the plug loose, watching sickly as the tainted water ran down the drain, before rinsing and refilling it. He battled with another dollop of Vicks, rubbing the residue left on his finger onto Dean's neck and chest as he waited for the steam to start wafting up. He held Dean in place, the wheezing returning in full force, confused whispers almost breaking Sam's resolve.

"Smmy ... nnn ..."

He ignored his brothers attempt to push away, movements filled with panic as he started hacking up more phlegm. But he had to do this, had no choice if he wanted Dean to survive the night. Tears leaked from the corner of his eyes and he quickly swatted them away, resuming the rhythmic thumping to Dean's back with the base of his palm, adding to the mottled bruises.

"Nnnno ... plss ..."

Oh, god, his big brother was begging him to stop ... tear streaked face, red ... dark veins bulging in his neck ... choking ... gasping.

"plss ... Smm ..."

No ... he needed to remain focused ... be strong .... stronger than Dean.

"I'm sorry ... I'm sorry ..."

As Sam zoned on his battle to keep his brother alive, a small feline figure sat by the door, it's piercing blue eyes evaluating his tireless efforts.

But Sam didn't see the cat watching him work, didn't see the way it cocked its head to the side, looking straight into his soul ... and he didn't hear the soft, approving purr echoing soundlessly in the room.

* * *

_**TBC**_


End file.
